Page 39 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Ruth took a breath, alarmed by the misery in her face. “Why ever not?”

She waited while Sheenagh’s throat worked, dismayed to see her fighting to control her obvious distress, clutching her arms about herself and looking utterly bereft.

“Because I dinnae know how, that’s why. What do I know of fashion and hairstyles, let alone how to help ye dress how ye ought to? I don’t know how to care for all the fancy dresses, not even what half my duties are, nor do them. I’m of nae use to ye and yon long shanks knows it. ’Tis why he despises me so.”

“Oh, is that all?” Ruth said with relief, laughing a little as Sheenagh glared at her in outrage.

“All?” she demanded.

Ruth sighed and set her breakfast aside, going to sit beside Sheenagh on the bed. She took the girl’s hand and squeezed it.

“You, are a very capable young woman and I know you will do me proud. No… don’t interrupt,” she warned, squeezing the girl’s fingers before she could speak whatever retort hovered on her tongue. “I will teach you what you need to know, though I warn you now not to listen to a word I say on matters of fashion. It has become obvious to me you have a far better eye for what suits me than I do. My friends despair of my fashion sense, I may as well tell you.”

Sheenagh paused to consider this.

“That orange gown is truly shocking,” she allowed, shaking her head.

Ruth sighed. “I know, but I loved the colour so.”

Sheenagh stared at her as though she was mentally impaired, and Ruth laughed.

“There, you see? I shall be a sad trial to you. Now,” she said, getting to her feet and opening one of the bedside drawers. She lifted a thick pile of magazines comprising the latest issues of La Belle Assemblée, Ackerman’s Repository, The Lady’s Monthly Museum and Journal des Dames et des Modes. “These are for you. I suggest you apply yourself to studying them. I shall also find something that will give you precise instruction on your duties, but in the meantime, you may rely on me as your guide. Ask me if you are unsure or in need of guidance.”

Sheenagh stared down at the stack Ruth hefted into her arms. “Ye would truly help me?”

“Of course,” Ruth said, shaking her head with impatience. “You cannot think I am such a ninny as to dismiss you for having no knowledge of a job you’ve never been trained for? What addle-brained kind of thinking is that? I might also add that you will find both Garrick and Mrs Crust a mine of useful information, and that they would be more than willing to help you. Indeed, if you ask them respectfully, I should think it will delight them to do anything they can for you.”

“I don’t know about that,” the girl muttered, clearly unconvinced.

“I dare you,” Ruth said, grinning at her. “Apologise to Mr Garrick. Tell him you mean to learn to do your job to the best of your ability and that you would be grateful for any help he can offer you. I bet you he’s thrilled. If I’m wrong, you may have the orange gown and do what you please with it.”

“Ye mean it?” Sheenagh said, her eyebrows going up.

“I never say things I don’t mean, Sheenagh, you’d best get used to that idea now.”

“Aye,” the girl said, smiling a little. “Reckon that’s true enough.”

“Well then,” Ruth said, returning to her breakfast with less enthusiasm than usual. “You had best stir yourself. I want hot water, if you please. I need to dress. There are matters I must attend to.”

“Aye, missus,” Sheenagh said, bobbing a curtsey and looking almost respectful. “At once.”

***

By the time Ruth was dressed, she was feeling very pleased with herself. Sheenagh had taken her words to heart and peppered her with questions concerning her duties and queries about her current wardrobe, including some scathing remarks about some of the outfits of which she did not approve. It was pleasing to find the girl so enthusiastic, if a little wearing. Ruth did not want to do anything to diminish her genuine pleasure in the prospect of learning her job, though, so she answered her questions as thoroughly and patiently as she could.

“Good morning, Garrick.”

The butler looked up at her and smiled as she descended the stairs.

“Good morning, Mrs Anderson.”

“Have you spoken to Sheenagh this morning?” she asked, watching his face with interest.

Garrick’s eyes gleamed, twinkling with approval.

“Ah,” he said, smiling. “That confirms what I suspected. You had a word with the young lady.”

“I did.”